Carmel-by-the-Sea, California
Sung to the tune of Thin Lizzie's The Boys Are Back In Town:
Guess who just got back today?
My bff fristers who can't stay away
Haven't talked in about half a day
Run out of words? We will just have to see
We know Lydia's here to shop
She does it so much we can't get her to stop
From the bottom of Ocean Avenue all the way to the top
Run out of stores? We'll have to see . . .
The girls are back in town, the girls are back in town
The girls are back in town, the girls are back in town
The girls are back in town, the girls are back in town
The girls are back in town (are you kidding me, this
is the chorus? My apologies to songwriters Ynott &
Parris, but. Really?) The girls are back in town.
The girls, Debra and Lydia who are better known here as DG and LOL (see a whole bunch of previous posts including The Monogram, available here until 8:00 pm today EST), were back in town. They left Monday afternoon to drive back to their respective homes in the suburbs of Los Angeles. Their January visit to Carmel has become a ritual, and luckily they were able to come for a three-nighter on this September trip.
The three of us have been friends for a long time, since we picked spots near and/or next to each other in an aerobic dancing class. To say that we've seen each other through a lot is an understatement. And there was a space in time when we almost lost contact with Lydia. But somehow we maintained a tenuous thread through holiday and birthday cards, a call now and then. Internet made it easier.
The great thing about our friendship is that it is a successful triad. My experience with triangles (and let's not even touch upon that disasterous episode with geometry in high school, lest I confess that my best experience with angles, at that time, was playing pool) hasn't been all that stellar. But with us it works. While two of us might share something that the third doesn't, there is always another thing that shifts the conversational balance around: Debra and I are both readers; Lydia & I are both Dodgers fans; Debra and Lydia are both moms; Debra and I see more films that Lydia; Lydia and I shop more than Deb; Debra and Lydia both work in education, Lydia and I have been known to enjoy a cocktail or wine; Debra and Lydia both have kids who went to Cal; Lydia and I have identical red purses; Deb & I just purchased matching blue skirts . . . oh you get the picture . . .
There are a few rituals that we do on each trip: I cook their first-night-in-Carmel dinner; the next day we walk up and down Ocean Avenue popping into shops; on Sunday, Lydia accompanies me to Mass at Carmel Mission Basilica, after which the three of us spend the afternoon at Pebble Beach Spa getting the knots and kinks of life smoothed out of us. We also make a pilgrimage to Jan de Luz for gifts and, this time, another apron for Lydia. And we often hit a couple of other shops on our way, including a we're-closing-in-fifteen-minutes spree at Anthropology, which turned into a feeding frenzy.
We spend most evenings curled up in our same spots (much as in the old aerobic dancing days, we are creatures of habit) on the sectional sofa in front of the fireplace talking and watching Lydia drift off mid-sentence when it quickly becomes late in the evening. After she goes to bed, Deb and I natter on into the early hours. This gives us the two of us a chance to catch up; they had that opportunity during their six hour drive up (until that pesky speeding ticket, Billy used to make it in five); Lyd and I have that during our almost-daily, hour-long, afternoon drive time conversations.
I think my favorite time during their visit is the mornings. I have always felt this when I am a house guest or have house guests in my home or vacation home. I love the luxury of lounging; everyone awakening at their own pace; wandering out in their pajamas or whatever; basking in their own varying degrees of vacation bliss or vacation exhaustion. Each grabs a cup of coffee or brews a cup of tea and finds a spot to settle in for conversation and laughter. It's so companionable to relax in the morning in this manner with good friends. And if you don't get this, please watch The Big Chill.
Our Las Chicas weekend always goes by way too fast. I try not to see the movie visual of the calendar pages flying off each day, but I am aware that the time is fleeting. And then the day of reckoning comes and I hear the wheels of suitcases bumping down the hall towards the front door. Saying goodbye is hard. We all wave until we can't see each other anymore. And the first evening is too quiet and still. But I know that they will be back in January; hopefully for a bit longer.
And Lydia will soon be leaving her job and taking an early retirement. I am both happy for her and excited about this prospect. I look forward to seeing what this next part of her life will be about; what activities she will embrace. She is the hub of an extended and growing multicultural family, with a son in his last year of law school. He has a lovely girlfriend who is soon to commence dental school. LOL's life will be full, but I hope neither of these two fristers of mine will ever have a life too full to spend this time with me in Carmel. I'm campaigning for a four-nighter frister weekend during the time I am here in January. There is more to do here: more conversations and fun to have; more restaurants to try; more stores to shop. And, of course, for LOL's sake, there will always be more aprons to acquire. I thank you for reading my blog, and thanks for the memories, fristers!
Showing posts with label Jan de Luz. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jan de Luz. Show all posts
September 20, 2012
January 25, 2011
The Monogram
Carmel-by-the-Sea
Here is the great idea that I presented to Billy recently. We were coming up on a non-significant anniversary (not one of those number of years divided by five). So I thought it would be cool to buy monogrammed aprons to celebrate. Now, have I mentioned somewhere along the line that Billy and I cook together? I mean, we cook together a lot. He is Casa Healy's sous chef extraordinaire. Believe me, no one can prep food, including slicing, chopping, and shredding like this man. He is also an excellent bartender, and an ace barbecue chef to boot. What is it that Rita Rudner says about barbecuing? That men will cook if danger is involved. That's Billy -- give him sharp tools, booze, and fire, and he is all in.
Unfortunately, not so in on the apron idea. He even used the "i" word -- something to the effect of "Are you insane? Why would I want an apron?" So I pretty much dropped the idea for the time being. Billy can get a little cranky at times, and the "i" word is one of his favorites when, in his view, people are not seeing eye to "i" with him. I let this roll off my back because it's also meant to be funny, in a weird, hyperbolic way.
Besides, I knew I wasn't insane. Not by a long shot. You see, there is a store here in Carmel that sells yummy, luxurious french linens which can be personalized with embroidery in a myriad of ways. You can find out about this marvelous store here. I always go there when I am in Carmel, and have often bought kitchen towels as gifts for friends. But I've never acquired any of the linens for myself. OK, so maybe my mistake was trying to loop Billy into this transaction.
Looping Lydia into this transaction is another story altogether, however! For a little backstory, I must ask you to remember or review my post entitled The Sisterhood of the Traveling Scarves (available right here, for free!). Because once again, Lydia and Debra came to Carmel. And what a time we had. We spent a girlfriend day lounging around in robes at The Spa at Pebble Beach. We shopped a lot (or Lydia did, anyway, as she's our resident pro). They even shopped while I went to Mass on Sunday. We ate, I drank (they're such lightweights), and they took me out twice including one night to La Bicyclette where we had some pretty fine pizza, and some very fine pinot. And in the midst of all this frister fun, I mentioned the aprons. Then, I took them to the store to check out said aprons.
Lydia? Where's Lydia? She circled the store maybe once, eventually zeroing in on the aprons. Soon she had selected one she liked and began looking at the various images that could be embroidered on it. Now, before we go on to that, I must provide the back story that Lydia came late to the cooking party. Last summer, she made a commitment to begin cooking in earnest at her home. Her son had returned from college to attend law school, so she would be cooking daily for at least three. And she has taken this endeavor very seriously, even with some chatter lately about taking cooking classes. So, not to belabor the point, an apron was right up her alley (also right up Billy's, but as I've relented why am I going on about this, I ask you?).
Lydia was momentarily stymied by the choices of iconic images that she could have embroidered on her chosen apron. She could have had lobsters, or olives, or grapes, or herbs, or any of a variety of vegetables and fruits. She could have chosen a whisk, or a few sprigs of lavender. She had scores of options, and she seemed stumped. So I suggested a monogram, showing her one that I thought was pretty, with the initials written in script.
"Oh!" she said, as I handed her the apron with the monogram. I could tell she was considering it.
"Let's see, you would have the large "O" in the middle," I pointed out (obviously, Lydia's last name begins with an O. Duh.).
"What's your middle initial?" I continued.
"L."
"L?"
"Yeah, it's L."
Pregnant pause.
"Are you telling me that your monogram is L-O-L?"
"Yeah."
"No-o-o-o . . ."
"Yeah, it is," she said, smiling, as this had inexplicably never occured to her.
"Are you kidding me?"
A novice cook, with a family frankly surprised that she has taken this on and is making many things "from scratch." And . . . wait for it . . . an apron that states L-O-L. You just can't make up stuff like this.
Lydia purchased her apron, choosing a whimsical font for her initials, and it turned out perfectly. And, not to steal the thunder here, but I got one too. One that has olives embroidered on it (appetizer de rigeur at our house and here), and says Casa Healy. I'm hoping that Billy will be envious when he sees it, and perhaps request his own. But not as envious as I am about Lydia's acrynomic monogram.
Alas, the visit of Las Chicas passed too quickly, but not before we managed to laugh ourselves all the way to tears several times. In a store with a collection of wry slogans on magnets, Debra and I needed tissues after a laughing fit. And I know it won't sound funny here (rather mean-spirited, in fact, but what the heck). It was a characture of a middle-aged man and his portly wife. The caption read: Not only are you not the woman I married, but it looks as if you ATE her. OK, we were a bit punchy from an all-day shopping excursion with Lydia, which was, as usual, exhausting, comprehensive, and tons of fun. And, I must say that until you've spent a day like that, with these bright and funny women, you really can't appreciate the meaning of LOL. You must trust me about this. Thank you for reading my blog (and thanks for coming to Carmel, Las Chicas!).
Here is the great idea that I presented to Billy recently. We were coming up on a non-significant anniversary (not one of those number of years divided by five). So I thought it would be cool to buy monogrammed aprons to celebrate. Now, have I mentioned somewhere along the line that Billy and I cook together? I mean, we cook together a lot. He is Casa Healy's sous chef extraordinaire. Believe me, no one can prep food, including slicing, chopping, and shredding like this man. He is also an excellent bartender, and an ace barbecue chef to boot. What is it that Rita Rudner says about barbecuing? That men will cook if danger is involved. That's Billy -- give him sharp tools, booze, and fire, and he is all in.
Unfortunately, not so in on the apron idea. He even used the "i" word -- something to the effect of "Are you insane? Why would I want an apron?" So I pretty much dropped the idea for the time being. Billy can get a little cranky at times, and the "i" word is one of his favorites when, in his view, people are not seeing eye to "i" with him. I let this roll off my back because it's also meant to be funny, in a weird, hyperbolic way.
Besides, I knew I wasn't insane. Not by a long shot. You see, there is a store here in Carmel that sells yummy, luxurious french linens which can be personalized with embroidery in a myriad of ways. You can find out about this marvelous store here. I always go there when I am in Carmel, and have often bought kitchen towels as gifts for friends. But I've never acquired any of the linens for myself. OK, so maybe my mistake was trying to loop Billy into this transaction.
Looping Lydia into this transaction is another story altogether, however! For a little backstory, I must ask you to remember or review my post entitled The Sisterhood of the Traveling Scarves (available right here, for free!). Because once again, Lydia and Debra came to Carmel. And what a time we had. We spent a girlfriend day lounging around in robes at The Spa at Pebble Beach. We shopped a lot (or Lydia did, anyway, as she's our resident pro). They even shopped while I went to Mass on Sunday. We ate, I drank (they're such lightweights), and they took me out twice including one night to La Bicyclette where we had some pretty fine pizza, and some very fine pinot. And in the midst of all this frister fun, I mentioned the aprons. Then, I took them to the store to check out said aprons.
Lydia? Where's Lydia? She circled the store maybe once, eventually zeroing in on the aprons. Soon she had selected one she liked and began looking at the various images that could be embroidered on it. Now, before we go on to that, I must provide the back story that Lydia came late to the cooking party. Last summer, she made a commitment to begin cooking in earnest at her home. Her son had returned from college to attend law school, so she would be cooking daily for at least three. And she has taken this endeavor very seriously, even with some chatter lately about taking cooking classes. So, not to belabor the point, an apron was right up her alley (also right up Billy's, but as I've relented why am I going on about this, I ask you?).
Lydia was momentarily stymied by the choices of iconic images that she could have embroidered on her chosen apron. She could have had lobsters, or olives, or grapes, or herbs, or any of a variety of vegetables and fruits. She could have chosen a whisk, or a few sprigs of lavender. She had scores of options, and she seemed stumped. So I suggested a monogram, showing her one that I thought was pretty, with the initials written in script.
"Oh!" she said, as I handed her the apron with the monogram. I could tell she was considering it.
"Let's see, you would have the large "O" in the middle," I pointed out (obviously, Lydia's last name begins with an O. Duh.).
"What's your middle initial?" I continued.
"L."
"L?"
"Yeah, it's L."
Pregnant pause.
"Are you telling me that your monogram is L-O-L?"
"Yeah."
"No-o-o-o . . ."
"Yeah, it is," she said, smiling, as this had inexplicably never occured to her.
"Are you kidding me?"
A novice cook, with a family frankly surprised that she has taken this on and is making many things "from scratch." And . . . wait for it . . . an apron that states L-O-L. You just can't make up stuff like this.
Lydia purchased her apron, choosing a whimsical font for her initials, and it turned out perfectly. And, not to steal the thunder here, but I got one too. One that has olives embroidered on it (appetizer de rigeur at our house and here), and says Casa Healy. I'm hoping that Billy will be envious when he sees it, and perhaps request his own. But not as envious as I am about Lydia's acrynomic monogram.
Alas, the visit of Las Chicas passed too quickly, but not before we managed to laugh ourselves all the way to tears several times. In a store with a collection of wry slogans on magnets, Debra and I needed tissues after a laughing fit. And I know it won't sound funny here (rather mean-spirited, in fact, but what the heck). It was a characture of a middle-aged man and his portly wife. The caption read: Not only are you not the woman I married, but it looks as if you ATE her. OK, we were a bit punchy from an all-day shopping excursion with Lydia, which was, as usual, exhausting, comprehensive, and tons of fun. And, I must say that until you've spent a day like that, with these bright and funny women, you really can't appreciate the meaning of LOL. You must trust me about this. Thank you for reading my blog (and thanks for coming to Carmel, Las Chicas!).
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About Me
- Bronte Healy
- California, United States
- Once, I came up with this brilliant idea (well, I thought so, anyway) that the key to happiness was to concentrate on three things -- to choose three interests, then focus and funnel your energy into that trio. I was an English major in college and have always written in some shape or form. So, my first choice was writing. I've always kept journals, and have also written plays, novels, poetry, and shopping lists. I do have a day job. It deals with numbers (assets and finances). Go figure. I went to college at a California University. I live in California, Los Angeles, but not downtown. No children, and sadly, between dogs at the moment (dog person, not a cat person). Enough info? I was going for just enough to not be a cypher, yet not enough to entice a stalker. And, I started my blog after being dragged, kicking and screaming, to do so. Blogs! Read about ME here, right? But I have been advised that this is a way to write regularly, and to put your writing OUT THERE. So, here goes. My name is Bronte Healy. Thanks for reading my blog.